Give me a Child Until He is Seven and I will Give You the Man
by Caia Caecilia
Summary: A look at Guy's childhood.


Title :- Give me a Child Until He is Seven and I will Give You the Man

Author : - Caia Caecilia

Rating:- Adult

Fandom : - Robin of Sherwood

Warnings : - Contains non/con and child abuse

Disclaimer :- All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

A/N – The title is a quote attributed to Francis Xavier the first Jesuit missionary.

Childhood -

Seven year old Guy was tall for his age with a shock of bright blond hair and wide, pale blue eyes. He could speak French and English, could ride his mother's palfrey and had been taught the basics of reading and writing by the local priest. He could also knock down the Steward's son in a fight, and he was two years older then Guy, and was the only boy who was brave enough to climb to the very top branches of the big, old oak tree down by the fish ponds. He had also learnt to run very fast, to always have a hiding place nearby and that sometimes it was best to keep quiet and never look anyone in the eye.

It was late summer and a full moon shone shafts of silver light down over the land. Lying in his bed Guy held his small, wooden horse up in his hand, and despite the fact that it was deep in the night, he could see it's silhouette perfectly framed against the moonlight streaming through his open window.

It was a small, slightly misshapen thing. Made of dark wood and made shiny by little fingers rubbing it for comfort. It was hand-carved and was the only toy Guy possessed. It had been made for him by old Eldred who had tended his father's horses. Eldred had served the Gisburne family all his life and had been grey-haired when Guy's father had been a boy. Eldred had let Guy hide in the stables when his father had been drinking and, when angry at everything, he would yell for,

"That worthless cur!"

Guy would know his father meant him and that a beating would follow if he was found. Once his father had come to the stables looking for him and Eldred had pushed Guy into a pile of clean hay and told his father,

"No, my Lord, the lad's not been here."

Seeing that Guy loved horses as much as he did Eldred had taught the boy as much as he could about them, how to groom them, how to pat their necks and whisper in their ears to calm them, and to always have an old apple somewhere on your person to give them as a gift to show them they were special to you.

It was a couple of weeks after his father had come to the stables looking for him, and Eldred had hidden him and lied to protect him, that he had given Guy the little carved horse. Guy always kept it hidden knowing how his father would react if he found it. He remembered being forced to watch as his father had drowned the little grey kitten Guy had found abandoned in the barn, and which he'd been trying to look after so he could keep it as a pet. His father had laughed at him when he'd cried for the little animal, throwing the small bundle of life-less, drenched fur at him when he'd killed it.

Looking at the silhouette of the little horse Guy ran his fingers over it and lingered over the broken edge of one of it's front legs. The horse had been broken months ago. Old Eldred had been carried away in the cold winter months, as so often happened to the very young or the very old. Guy had known he'd lost his only friend and ally and had climbed onto a stool to look out of the empty solar's window to watch as the old man's body was taken to the churchyard to be buried, and he'd cried and clutched the little horse in one hand. He had been so caught up in his grief watching his friend's last journey that he hadn't heard his father enter the room. The first he'd known that he was there was when a backhanded slap across the face had knocked him off the stool onto the floor, giving him a black-eye in the process. The horse had flown out of his hand and skittered across the floor. Fortunately, his father didn't notice the toy, already busy sneering at Guy's tears,

"Pathetic, crying over that old fool. He was costing me more in food and lodging then he was paying me in labour, good thing he's gone. They're like cattle boy, you don't mourn dead cattle you just replace them."

His father had stalked out of the room and Guy had crawled across to where his horse now lay to find that one of it's front legs had broken off and he couldn't find the broken piece to try and mend it. So now when he put the horse down it always fell over, but just because it was broken didn't make Guy love it any less.

Guy would be a knight one day and then he would have a real horse of his own. He would be brave and handsome and rescue maidens, and help orphans and fight for King Henry in France. He would make his father proud of him and then his father would love him and his mother wouldn't cry when she looked at him and push him away saying he was her punishment.

Suddenly Guy stilled and held his breath because he heard a noise in the corridor outside his room. As he heard the door begin to open he shoved the wooden horse under his pillow and closed his eyes hoping his father would think he was asleep and leave. He knew it was his father because the smell of stale wine and old sweat had filled the room as soon as he had stepped inside. Guy heard the door close and his father's unsteady steps as he moved towards the bed. He closed his eyes even tighter and held his breath, wishing himself far away.

Suddenly the bedclothes were pulled off him and his father grabbed his shoulder and pulled him around onto his back. Unable to feign sleep any longer Guy opened his eyes and seeing his father's flushed faced twisted into a cruel smile he stared up at him in fear,

"Papa, please..." he whispered, his mouth dry, his heart pounding in his chest.

"Papa, papa," his father sneered.

Taking Guy's chin in a bruising grip he leaned down into the child's face, his stinking breath making Guy gag.

"I'm not your papa, bastard whelp. Your mother is a filthy whore and while I was away fighting for Christendom in the Holy Lands she was here on her back having every man she could between her legs until she got stuck with you. I came home and found her fat bellied with you growing inside her. Should've taken my sword and cut you out of her then and there. Instead I'm cursed to see your whey-face every day and wear a cuckold's horns!"

Letting him go Sir Edmund straightened up,

"Little bastard," he sneered down at the now sobbing child.

"Please, it's not true." Guy cried.

"Oh, it's true you worthless, ungrateful piece of shit. A whore son that's all you are."

Suddenly Sir Edmund's eyes narrowed cruelly and he leaned down towards the boy again,

"Son of a whore, might as well treat you like a whore."

Sir Edmund grabbed him and turned Guy around onto his front, one big, meaty hand between his shoulder blades pinning him to the bed. Guy heard him undo his belt and when his night clothes were pulled off him he expected a beating, but instead felt the man's rough hands on him.

A little later he cried, his face pressed into his pillow as Sir Edmund grunted and sweated above him, hurting him like he'd never been hurt before. His hand slipped under his pillow and he clutched his little wooden horse hard, not feeling the broken leg cutting into the palm of his hand.

One of his mother's women had found him the next morning lying broken and bleeding in his bed. He was aware of whispers and cool, impersonal hands tending to him. He kept quiet and felt himself to be a worthless, broken thing stained by sin so deep that young as he was he knew he'd never be able to clean his soul.

A month later he was sent away to train as a page. When he left early one cool morning with Autumn beginning to bite the air no one came to see him off, and he was glad. He wanted nothing from the people who lived in that house and he never looked back as he rode next to the man who had been sent to escort him to his new life.

Present -

Sir Guy entered the room he had been given at Nottingham Castle now that he was in the Sheriff's employ, he wanted to check that his belongings had been brought from the Abbey. The two chests were there but some fool had dropped one and it's contents had spilled out on to the floor. Lazy, good-for-nothings hadn't even bothered to pick up the mess and with a sigh of irritation Guy bent down to do it himself.

As he picked up the last of the scattered contents a scrap of silk he'd kept as a keepsake of a pretty lady at a tournament when he was a squire unravelled and something fell out onto the floor. Bending down he picked it up and holding it in his hand saw that it was a small, wooden horse with a broken front leg.

Guy took a sharp breath as a rush of memories that he tried very hard to keep buried poured into his mind and pulling back his arm he went to throw the thing into the fire. But as he did so other memories came to the surface and he remembered a kind old man who had lied for him and kept him safe and help foster his love of horses. An old man he had once cried for and missed, so instead Guy lowered his arm and opening his hand he looked down at the little toy lying there. Badly carved, but made with love and given with love too. Rubbing his thumb along it's smooth side he remember lonely nights stroking it as he did now seeking comfort in it's familiarity and the memories of the one who had given it to him. Making his mind up Guy re-wrapped it in the scrap of silk and buried it again deep in the chest. He firmly shut the lid and taking a deep breath he took a moment to gather himself and then strode from the room every inch the arrogant Norman knight leaving the lonely, hurt little boy locked away with his wooden horse.


End file.
